


On Dresses and Geodes

by ladyshadowdrake



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Gen, Gift Exchange, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 01:23:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5608447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyshadowdrake/pseuds/ladyshadowdrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Conversations between Laurence and Temeraire on the trip from London to Loch Laggan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Dresses and Geodes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lite_Reads](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lite_Reads/gifts).



> Fits between Chapters 4 and 5 of His Majesty's Dragon.
> 
> Prompts: 
> 
> -I'm a sucker for dragons treating their humans like they're their pets so anything in the Temeraire being protective of Laurence or Iskierka putting Granby through cape-wearing antics is right up my alley.
> 
> -Laurence and Temeraire just hanging out, perhaps Laurence teaching something 'human' new to Temeraire, I always love those interactions in the book.  
> ^Also temeraire just being fussy about things in general. I know that's not specific.
> 
> I hope this is what you're looking for!

Some hours after leaving his mother in the paddock, Laurence was forced to admit a temporary defeat with the book. The wind was bitingly cold, even through his gloves, and the gloves themselves made it difficult to turn the pages. The light, as well, was not very good with the sun directly before them. He finished the paragraph before closing the book and tucking it into his jacket. His voice had grown weak in the hours of shouting over the wind to the point that he was not sure Temeraire could properly hear him in any event.

“Should we land now, Laurence?” Temeraire asked, twisting his head around to look at Laurence. He began to list to port as he did and Laurence had to remind him to face to the front. “Are you tired?”

“I need only rest my voice a moment, Temeraire. Pray continue if you do not feel too fatigued. We’ve a long way yet to go.”

Temeraire flew in silence for several minutes, the great beat of his wings the only sound to be heard over the whistle of the wind.  Laurence turned in his makeshift harness to retrieve his wine skin and took a long draught to wet his throat. It was icy cold and felt pleasant after the hours of reading. His jaw felt a touch tender and his cheeks were somewhat chapped from the wind, but he was comfortable enough in his new flight jacket.

Temeraire turned once more to look at Laurence, and then faced forward without having to be reminded. “Laurence?” he asked with a touch of uncertainty to his voice. “Your mother this morning. She was wearing different clothing from you. I have seen others wear clothing like that, but you never have.”

For a moment, Laurence was dumbfounded by the observation and could find no words to answer. Temeraire, of course, had known only the men and boys aboard _The Reliant,_ and then had not occasioned to encounter many women on Madeira. Temeraire looked back at him again, so he cleared his throat. “My mother wears skirts, Temeraire. They are… long cones of fabric that drape over the legs, rather than trousers.”

“Oh, I see,” Temeraire said, and then, “Is that because she is not on a ship?”

“It is the fashion for women,” Laurence said, struggling with how he might explain proper dress to a dragon. “Were she on a ship, she would also wear a skirt, though women are not oft to be found on Naval vessels.”

“Why is that?”

“It is not proper, nor a good occupation for a woman. The quarters are cramped, there is no privacy, and the physical hardships are more than any woman should be asked to endure. They are, by and large, delicate creatures.” He could never imagine Edith or his mother on a sailing vessel, nor the reactions of the crew to have a woman aboard. Old superstitions were not to be trifled with on a ship out to sea, ridiculous though a learned man might find them.

“Would you like to wear a skirt, Laurence?” Temeraire inquired after a moment to consider his words.

Laurence felt heat rise to his collar at the very thought and choked out a short laugh. “Certainly not!”

“It did not look very practical,” Temeraire mused, “But perhaps it is more comfortable than your trousers? I am certain that you could wear one astride if you wished.”

“Temeraire, my dear, men do not wear skirts. It is a fashion for women only.”

“But why?”

Laurence made a sputtering noise in the course of searching for an explanation that was not the simple truth of _that is how things are_. It was true that men had, in past eras, worn long robes, kilts, and the like, but he could no sooner imagine himself in a dress than he could his mother barefoot and climbing about the rigging. “It would simply not be proper for a man to go about in women’s clothing,” he managed finally, which was no better. “It is the custom that women wear skirts, and men trousers. Just as it would not be proper for say, a cabin boy, to wear a captain’s hat.”

“Why couldn’t he? It is only a hat. I can see how the skirts would not be very convenient for flying, but that does not mean you should not be able to wear them if you wished.”

“I can see you will not be put off, and so the truth is that there is no reason beyond custom. One’s clothing says a good deal about the person wearing them. They indicate to others occupation, class, and rank. It is a social matter, and a woman would no more be properly attired in men’s trousers than I in my mother’s skirts. It would be a scandal, and it is quite illegal besides.”

Temeraire flew on, and Laurence thought the matter quite well solved, when he once again craned his head back. “It is strange to have so many laws, Laurence. Why should there be a law on what a person may or may not wear?”

“I really cannot say, my dear,” was Laurence’s only answer.

“Well, I think it is silly, and if you wanted to wear a skirt, I would not tell.”

Laughing, Laurence finally managed to respond, “Thank you, Temeraire. If I should ever desire to wear women’s clothing, I will feel most secure in your support.”

Seemingly satisfied with this at last, Temeraire asked, “Is your voice rested?”

While he found the idea of taking the book out once more dreadfully uncomfortable, he did not want to imagine what other notions Temeraire would come up with in the lull. He slipped the book back out of his jacket and hunched over it to protect it from the wind while he searched for his place.

~*~

They landed in a field just after midday for Laurence to stretch his legs and have a light lunch of cold cuts, cheese, and an apple.  Temeraire explored the field while Laurence picked through his meal. It was deserted, though Laurence could see a wisp of smoke snaking up through the trees some distance off, and imagined it to be pasture land.

He was just biting into the apple when Temeraire returned, nudging a stone along the ground with his snout. It looked like hard work, but Temeraire nearly glowed with pride when he rolled the rock finally to Laurence’s feet. It was a roundish stone with a dark, rough texture, and slightly larger than Laurence’s fist.

“I found it just over there,” Temeraire explained, sitting on his back haunches and gesturing to the north.

“If I do not miss my guess, this is an agate,” Laurence said. He was no student of rocks, but he and his brothers had hunted them as children during a brief spell of play as treasure hunters. He cast around for a suitable rock to open the geode, and then retrieved a tightly rolled woolen sock from his luggage. The process would likely ruin the sock, but Laurence was looking forward to Temeraire’s reaction far too much to mind. He worked the geode into the sock and set it on a boulder.

Temeraire crouched down and watched with avid attention as Laurence brought a heavy stone down on the center of geode. It cracked with a sharp sound, and Laurence felt the geode shift beneath the stone’s weight. Tossing the stone away, Laurence fished a chunk of the geode out of the sock. It had not split evenly, and Laurence wondered briefly if he should not have held onto it and had it brought to a jeweler for a proper job, but Temeraire made an awed sound as Laurence held up the stone.

“It is very lovely, is it not, Laurence?” Temeraire asked, transfixed. It was indeed a handsome stone of smoky blue with white rings describing a geometric pattern of wavy ripples expanding outward from one corner.

“It is indeed. Would you like to keep it?” he asked, pulling out the other pieces. There were some small fragments that fell instantly through his fingers, and one chunk was quite a bit larger than the other, but Temeraire did not seem to mind.

Nudging his snout gently to Laurence’s chest, he asked, “May we?”

“Certainly, my dear. You did find it.” Laurence stroked his soft nose and held the stones out where Temeraire would be able to see them easily.

“I would like it very much.”

He curled onto the ground and Laurence obliged him by placing the largest pieces on the top of Temeraire’s claw, so he could appreciate them in the sunlight. Laurence arranged himself on the dragon’s forearm to finish his lunch, and then continued reading of the Battle of the Glorious First for Temeraire’s amusement. Only once they had finished the section did Laurence tuck the agate carefully into his luggage and climb back into the saddle.

“It will not fall out?” Temeraire asked again once Laurence was settled.

“I have packed it with great care,” Laurence reassured him. He wondered if he might have the agate set into a chain, or perhaps strung in some fashion to the chain Temeraire wore about his claw. He was certain that it could be done and resolved to take the agate to a jeweler at the first opportunity.

“Come now, Temeraire, we have covered less than half of the distance to Loch Laggan, and I should like to arrive by tomorrow noon.”

Temeraire’s great haunches bunched up, and then he thrust himself into the sky with such tremendous speed that Laurence was briefly crushed down to lay astride his neck. Temeraire’s wings unfurled with a sound not unlike a sail catching the wind, and they turned again to the north.


End file.
